


many are the stars

by vexmybones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester Use Their Words, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester in Love, Dreams and Nightmares, Episode AU: s15e20 Carry On, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Fix-It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I could tag this all day, Idiots in Love, M/M, Meddling God, New God who dis?, Not Beta Read, Other, Post-Finale, Quote: Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically irrationally erotically codependent on each other, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Sibling Incest, Song fic, Soulmates Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, There's A Tag For That, brothers in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexmybones/pseuds/vexmybones
Summary: Sam prays for just one more favor.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Implied Past Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester - Relationship
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. Light.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, folks! Long time no see. Hope you're well.   
> So.   
> While I enjoyed the finale, I've been bitten by the 'what-if' bug. This is the result.   
> I also haven't written for the boys since waaaaaay back when, so it may be rusty.   
> Also, the title (and lyrics) are from 'Ursine Vulpine & Annaca's - Many Are the Stars I See, But in My Eye No Star Like Thee'. Seriously, go listen. It'll rip your heart right out. Especially that last line. #deadinside   
> Anywho! I hope you get some form of enjoyment out of this. Onward!

_'all the pain is undone._

_as the fear, it dies._

_and the wars I fought were worth the scars_

_for the shimmer of the gold across your eyes.'_

It takes Dean three days just to look Sam in the eye, and even then it's fleeting.

Sam knows his brother's pride is dented, his manhood called into question, but he doesn't see what the big deal is. It wasn't like this was the first time one of them knocked on Death's door and had confessed things before it swung open. He'd thought the 'no chick-flick' rule had been crossed out so many times that there was a metaphorical hole in the paper of their gospel. But you know what they say about assuming. He supposes that things are just a tad bit different now. Chuck is out of the picture, Jack is off doing whatever a freshly crowned deity does, and Cas... Well, you get it. Run of the mill monsters and domestic bliss is how the world works now. And frankly, Sam would like to keep it that way. Which is why he did what he did.

And if the overwhelming sprawl of years void of his brother, the absolute emptiness of being separated from Dean had swelled up to clog his throat and jam his veins with resounding terror, sue him. He's both voluntarily and involuntarily been down that road before and he never, ever liked who he was either time. So. Sam figured he'd try his hand at being selfish again. He wanted Dean to stay, so he fought for him.

Jack's name had spewed from his mouth with a wail as soon as Dean's body had gone limp. Sam had known Jack didn't owe them anything anymore, but he'd prayed that the boy he'd protected and loved was willing to do him just one more favor.

The barn hadn't lit up with celestial light or anything so dramatic as a flickering bulb. And there He was. All Sam had managed to get out was a weak and desperate plea that resembled his brother's name. Jack then held his arms out and Sam's gut had rolled when he realized he'd have to pull Dean down from that piece of metal. But he'd done it. With blood soaked hands he'd lifted Dean and carried him the ten feet to where Jack stood, waiting. One hand pressed to Dean's lax cheek was all it had taken.

"He'll sleep for a while, but he's healed. Are you okay, Sam?"

He'd wanted to say ' _no_ '. He'd wanted to say ' _yes_ '. He had wanted to scream: ' _I don't want to fucking do this anymore, please just take ME instead_ ', but relief had been too thick on his tongue. He'd nodded, offered a watery smile, and held his brother's weight.

The drive from Ohio back to the bunker was a blur in Sam's mind now, flickers of road in-between watching Dean's chest rise and fall. He'd lost count of his breaths somewhere on the interstate. He'd lost sleep and drove through the entire trip without stopping for more than one tank of gas, just so Baby wouldn't give out on him.

The bunker had greeted him like an old friend, warm and inviting as he'd carried Dean to his room. Once he'd settled him, he'd gone to the sink and washed his hands, Dean's blood swirling an ugly orange down the drain. Then he'd pulled up a chair and waited.

When the hand curled around his brother's forearm had been forcefully jostled he'd shot up, immediately on alert. Dean's tone had been angry, accusatory, and his “ _Seriously, Sam?!”_ a sharp blade slicing expertly into exposed nerves. His eyes had glanced over the motion of Dean's chest for a beat... _two, three_ before his feet would move; then he'd fled.

That'd been six days ago.

They'd accidentally run into each other in the kitchen on the night of the third day. Dean's eyes had widened before narrowing, then he'd cleared his throat, grabbed his beer and made a quick exit, leaving a half-eaten sandwich atop the counter. Sam'd stared at the teeth marks in the bread as the brush of air from Dean's departure whispered to him. It'd stayed only long enough to taunt him and leave goosebumps in its wake. Without remembering why he'd even made the trek to the kitchen in the first place, he'd turned right around and left.

\- o -

It's been a week now since he'd washed his brother's blood from his hands.

Not able to remain cooped up in his room any longer, he makes his way to the War Room. Spreading books and miscellaneous research things around, he settles at the map-table. He's been looking for a case, anything really, to occupy his whirlwind thoughts but hasn't come up with anything. He figures if he immerses himself in lore maybe he can _will_ something to crop up. Fake it 'til you make it, right?

If only it were that easy.

After reading the same sentence four times and having to re-start the paragraph just as many, he slams the book closed. He just _cannot_ focus. Normally he'd have little to no trouble falling into some text and getting lost. But his mind just won't shut the fuck up. It seems to have taken to replaying Dean's dying words to him on a loop. His stuttering voice like a record caught on a skip;

“ _It was always you. . .and me. It's always been you... Always been you... You and me...”_ His jaw clenches as he stares off into nothing, heart beginning to gallop. _“I love you so much.”_ Something akin to longing creeps up his spine and wraps warmth around his neck. Dean's bright eyes were the only warmth inside that fucking barn. _“My baby brother... Goodbye, Sam.”_ The snap of the pencil he'd been fiddling with while he tried to read draws reality back into sharp, painful focus. Gasping, he releases the broken wood and pushes back from the table. Carding a hand through his hair, Sam tries to get himself together. It's an ongoing battle.

He needs a drink, maybe a break. Fresh air might do him some good. Heading to the kitchen, he pulls up short at the sight that greets him. Miracle barks happily.

“We're out of bread. And beer.”

“Uh...yeah, okay,” he says dumbly to which Dean rolls his eyes.

“You gonna just stand there, or you gonna go put on some actual clothes?”

Sam glances down at his threadbare sleep-pants and doesn't blush. (Except that he does.) Dean motions him on with his pen and turns back to the list he's making. Sam stares at the width of his brother's shoulders as they move with each inhale and exhale. He maybe stares a little too long as they start to tense and Dean makes an annoyed huff. Silently, Sam turns on his heel and books it to his room to get changed.

-

It isn't until they're on their way back to the bunker that Sam broaches the topic of 'The Ohio Incident'. Dean shuts him down fast, refusing to talk about it. His gruff “Don't, Sam.” leaving absolutely no room for negotiation. Sam doesn't put up a fight, letting it go quicker than he normally would. He's just glad Dean's talking to him again.

\- o -

They're in Utah, in some abandoned cabin, on the trail of a skinwalker when Sam has the first dream.

_The place is crowded, too crowded if you ask Sam. Do they even_ know _this many people? He moves to take a sip of his beer when a hand on his shoulder gives him pause. The person's breath is oddly cool across his neck, but their body is warm along his side._

“ _Cheer up!” Every cell in his body freezes at the sound of that voice. “Seriously, Sam this is your engagement party, have at least a little fun... For me?”_

_Swallowing thickly, Sam glances down. The lights seem to make a hazy halo around her and glint off of her blonde curls. Her gaze is hopeful and knowing. He manages to nod at her request._

“ _Yay! Good boy,” she smirks and taps two fingers against his jaw until he closes it. He stares at her as she looks into the crowd, her palm dropping to his chest. “Look at him, will ya? He's such a jackass, but he sure does clean up nice.”_

_Sam's gaze ticks from her profile to where her head motions. He's helpless but to follow her every command. Dean is laughing at something, eyes alight with joy. Jessica sighs, pats his chest._

“ _You're lucky, Sam.”_

“ _I am?” he questions incredulously._

“ _Absolutely.”_

_Dean chooses that moment to materialize before them. He looks so fucking happy. Sam wants to take a picture so he never forgets what it looks like. His brother's hand replaces Jessica's._

“ _You had your turn!”_

_Jess laughs and leans up to press a kiss to Dean's cheek in response, and Sam can't make out what she's saying 'til she does the same to him. Her breath is cool when she whispers, “Be happy, Sam,” and the light swells around her, nearly blinding as the warmth of her at his side flares for one spectacular moment before she's gone. Dean's hand on his chest is his only anchor._

“ _C'mon, dance with me.”_

_Sam laughs out loud, confused and intrigued. “Since when do we dance?”_

“ _Since now,” Dean's fingers tap out a nonsensical rhythm on his heart and Sam's useless at saying no to his big brother._

_Dean drags him to the middle of the room, people (blurred faces) parting around them like the sea. There's music playing softly from somewhere. One arm slides around his waist, the other winding about his neck. It's intimate in a way that makes his brain rattle. He has no option but to return the embrace. The shorter man turns them in a slow circle, his jaw settled comfortably alongside Sam's. It feels like they've done this before, but he can't place it. He thinks maybe something should be off, but Dean's frame pressed so tightly against his leaves no place for doubt._

_Sam isn't sure how long they dance, but everything around them fades. It's just him and his brother, how it's supposed to be. Dean's hand finds that place over his heart again and Sam's follows, fingers curling into callused ones. His breath hitches at the look in Dean's eyes when he eases back._

“ _I love you so much,” his brother says._

_Something inside of Sam breaks. His forehead lowers to Dean's until they share breath. But he doesn't stop there. He can't. He has to know. His lips gently brush across his brother's and Dean trembles. Or maybe Sam does. Maybe they both do. All Sam knows is that this feels like—_

A door slamming has Sam shooting up from his sleeping bag, gun in hand and pointed. Vision distorted, he has to blink the intruder into focus. The fight drains out of him at Dean's raised brow.

“Still quick on the draw there, Tex.”

Sam grunts, rubbing a hand over his face. He frowns when it comes away wet. Vapors of a dream lie just beyond his reach, and he can't quite recall the details. Ignoring Dean's eagle eye, he peels himself off the floor and shuts himself inside the tiny bathroom. Splashing his face with cold water, he stares at his reflection. Wisps of blonde curls flicker like a bad bulb, a melancholic melody as soundtrack to jumbled chatter. A welcome pressure on his chest.

Mirror Sam's eyes grow wide, color draining from his features.

He remembers.

Pounding on the bathroom door makes him jump, guiltily. Dean threatens to trash his rabbit food if he doesn't stop jerking off and come eat. Sam convinces himself that none of it meant anything. He's dreamt all kinds of messed up shit before. Hell, this doesn't even rate in the top twenty of most ridiculous dreams. Inner pep talk given, he straightens and goes out to face his brother.

He can't meet Dean's eyes that night without hearing Jess's ' _be happy'_.


	2. Calm before.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is a difficult man with difficult problems.

_'_ _and the darkness fades,_

_through the light I see your face._

_and you raise me up to fall and form,_

_the flicker in the storm inside of me.'_

There are times in a man's life that stand out more than most. Some because they're softly glowing with little stolen moments of happiness, and others that are wrought with pain and fear. Dean has had his fair share of the latter. But sometimes, in a rare case of crossed wires, the universe fucks up.

Confessing _things_ to Sam with his last breaths being Exhibit A.

When he'd told his brother all of those things, laid his final hand down on the table, he didn't think he'd have to deal with the repercussions. Not until Sam was old and dead and they were both finally _done_. Oh, but _no_. Sam had lied. And Dean is pissed.

Now sure, it hadn't been the first time he'd gone and died, but the point is, he'd thought it was going to be the last. Sam had taken his choice away, plain and simple. He's so tired. Waking up back in the bunker, back in his bed, had thrown him for a loop. The second his eyes had flown open he'd wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. To drift down into that darkness where everything is muffled while your soul goes through the sorting line. But instead he'd found his giant of a brother curled in an uncomfortable looking position, a paw clutching to him tightly even in his sleep.

After he'd gotten his bearings and realized where and _why_ he was, Dean had taken a good look at Sam. Dark circles bloomed under his sweeping lashes, his lips had been turned down into a frown, and suspicious stains had spilled across his chest. He'd known in an instant what had happened, had _remembered_. And at first he'd been so overwhelmed with emotions he'd nearly climbed out of that bed and into his little brother's lap, desperate just to touch him and reassure himself that he was well and truly alive. But he'd reined it in. The longer he'd looked at Sam, the angrier he'd became.

Dean didn't mean to fight with Sam. Honestly. He just couldn't understand why they were stuck in this pattern. Always on repeat. One dies; the other fights, pleads, barters, does whatever it takes to get him back. Okay, he lied. He knows _exactly_ why they're here. Admitting you have a problem is the first step, right?

_'Hi, I'm Dean Winchester and I'm utterly, stupidly in love with my baby brother.'_

Ha. Yeah, that one would definitely cause some shock waves if he were in therapy. Maybe he needs therapy? Nah, he just needs a burger and a beer. He'll be _fine_.

“I think I found us a case.” Dean doesn't startle at the voice. Nope.

Clearing his throat and tucking away his inappropriate thoughts he replies: “Yeah?”

“Witches in Texas,” Sam says not looking up from his laptop.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Leave in thirty?”

Sam shakes his head and straightens from his keyboard. Dean watches as he delves long fingers into his hair. It's getting a little longer than he keeps it. Strands tumble around his jaw when he stretches his arms over his head, and Dean's gaze jumps to his arms. His brother's muscles strain against the short sleeves of his blue shirt in an obscene way. Train completely derailed, he follows up their length to those hands, which move. Thumbs bracket his Adam's apple and digits curl around his neck making Dean swallow convulsively. He doesn't know if he's more jealous of Sam's hands or his neck. Jesus, he does need therapy.

A snort gains his attention and his gaze snaps up to meet Sam's amused one.

“Dude, are you alright?”

“You need a fucking haircut, you girl.”

“Kiss my ass. Where'd you go?” He arches a brow.

Clearing his throat, Dean reaches for his beer and sighs finding it empty. “Nowhere. Now why can't we leave in thirty?”

“I told you! My clothes are in the dryer.”

“See,” Dean pushes up and points a finger at his little brother, “you are a girl.” Sam huffs and mumbles a complaint. Dean grins, mumbling right back as he walks out of the room. “Such a good, little housewife, Sammy.”

If he spends a little 'me time' in the shower imagining Sam's hands wrapped around certain parts of his anatomy... Well, that's his business. Besides, he's already been to Hell, so what's one more punch on his card?

\- o -

Two days later they're in Texas and two people are dead. Man, he hates witches, (with only a couple exceptions). They've managed to save a third girl, at least. He wonders when teenagers will learn not to mess with things they shouldn't. He supposes they'd be out of a job if they ever did.

Stomach full and a nice buzz from the whiskey he'd bought in celebration thrumming in his veins, Dean falls gracelessly onto his assigned bed. Eyes closing, content for the moment, he tugs his shirt up and pats at his belly with a happy sigh. He wants to get back home to Miracle but he is far too tired and in no hurry to leave before their checkout in the morning.

“Comfortable?”

“Definitely.”

Dean cracks an eye open, head listing to the right to peer up at the other man. He watches as Sam shrugs out of his flannel then sits down to pull his boots off. There's this small smile tugging at the brunette's lips, like he doesn't want to let it fully bloom or something. For a spark of a second Dean is blindingly happy. Sammy _looks_ happy, too. With his own easy smile on display he sighs again, arm flinging out into the void between their beds.

“Sammy, lets watch a movie.”

He gets nothing more than a hum in response and a brush of his brother's jeans across his knuckles. Dean listens to Sam put his boots by the door then double-check the lock. There's a chance he dozes for a minute or two before there's a pillow hitting him in the full stomach. Groaning, he squints up at the Sasquatch looming over him.

“Even though you're going to fall asleep ten minutes in, scoot over.”

Too lethargic to do more than wiggle over a few inches, Sam huffs at his half-assed attempt and plops down scooting his butt into the mattress, and Dean. Dean growls in protest, yanking his shoulder out from under his brother's hip and scoots over. While Sam arranges pillows and finds them a movie, Dean yawns settling in. Shoulder to shoulder with Sam, laptop screen the only light in the room, Dean does indeed fall asleep the first ten minutes in.

And he dreams...

_The bar gleams in the soft, yellow light and seems to twinkle with the movement of his etched glass as Dean takes a drink. There's some kind of fancy music weaving its way through the place and he shakes his head. He can't wait 'til this thing is over and they can go home. This entire 'show' hadn't even been his idea, or Sam's if the man would actually be truthful. Speaking of, Dean turns around on his stool and searches for his brother. He finds the man in the center of a circle of women (and a few men), head dipped with stooped shoulders to better hear whatever's being said._

_He's smiling._

_Dean can't help but feel a rush of affection for the big lug. Stepping down from his perch, he makes to move to his brother's side to rescue him from the spotlight, but an arm sliding around his waist stops him. A different kind of rush whispers through him as big, brown eyes smile up at him._

“ _Where are you running off to?”_

“ _Nowhere!” He sputters sheepishly because her gaze is all too knowing._

“ _Uh huh,” Jo smirks at him. “You aren't skipping out just yet, Winchester.”_

“ _Hadn't planned on it,” he promises, silently amending it with a 'yet'. Draping an arm around her shoulders, Dean tucks her into his side. Jo hums happily, her hand reaching across his middle to capture his left hand. The lights glint off of the simple sterling band that resides on his third finger._

“ _You know you don't have any reason to be angry at him, right?”_

“ _Huh?” He glances down to where her pale fingers fiddle with his ring, confusion a thread he isn't sure he wants to tug on._

“ _Sam was only doing what you would have done. He loves you, Dean.” She leans back enough to look up at him but he can't meet her gaze. “You're soulmates. I see it_ now _and it's something beautiful.” Letting go of his hand she raises hers, knuckles knocking lightly against the underside of his jaw. “Don't go throwing that away, you lucky bastard.” Her words surprise a laugh out of him and he offers her a nod of acknowledgment, message received._

“ _I would be jealous, but for some reason I'm not.”_

“ _Sam, honey, he's all yours,” she pats a palm against Dean's cheek and relinquishes her hold on him. With a squeeze to Sam's arm they watch her melt into the crowd. Sam edges his way into Dean's space, their bodies slotting together like a well used lock. Dean isn't ashamed to admit that the tension in his body all but disintegrates with the proximity of the taller man._

“ _You're ready to go, aren't you?”_

“ _God, yes,” Dean breathes._

_Sam chuckles quietly and turns a bit into Dean's side, his hand rising to tilt the hunter's head back. Dean allows the manipulation and is met with entirely too captivating hazel eyes. Sam's whispered “Hey” snakes languidly down his spine. The scar that slices through his palm in an odd 'v' shape is rough against the curve of Dean's cheek. The hard press of the metal of Dean's ring settled in its new home makes him gulp. This is real. Sam's lips barely brush over his, just enough to steal his breath. This is real. Nimble fingers curl around his nape as Sam's brow rests against his... a mockery of—This isn't—_

Dean wakes slowly, then all at once. The hotel room is dark save for the light bleeding in from the neon sign outside their room. Sam breathes peacefully and deep next to him, completely sacked out. The laptop screen is black where it's balanced on a pillow between them. Unwinding his limbs from Sam's, Dean reaches out carefully closing it and transfers it to the nightstand. His brother mumbles unintelligibly and turns giving Dean his back.

He should wake him up and send him to his own bed. He _should_ move to Sam's bed himself. The thing is? Dean's never been very good at doing things he should. Especially when it comes to his baby brother.

Managing to wrestle the cover up over them, Dean opts to stay where he is. And when a heel connects with his shin he laces their legs together and tucks his face against Sam's shoulder blade. His brain is still fuzzy with sleep but he remembers every second of his dream. And he knows it was a dream because _Jo_... and... He's pretty sure he lost that ring years ago. Yeah, he's not even going to look too closely at that last scene. It was ludicrous after all.

But if it was so asinine why can Dean still feel the tingle Sam's lips left in their wake?

-

The next morning Sam's dressed and settled at the tiny table tucked under the window. Bent over his laptop he barely spares Dean a glance when he sits up with a groan. Dean eyes his brother and Sam nudges a To-Go cup across the table, its twin at his elbow and probably half-empty already. Bones and joints pop and crack as he stands with closed eyes. Stretching, his spine straightens with a satisfied grunt and when he opens his eyes, glancing at his brother again, it's to find Sam quickly averting his gaze. Dean arches a brow, curious, but deigns to even question his actions before he's had his coffee.

“So...” Sam licks his lips and drums his fingers against his cup. 

Coffee all but consumed, Dean gestures for him to continue.

“I know you were ready to go home, but I think I found something in Georgia.”

“Yeah?” Dean burps, hoping there's bacon hidden somewhere on Sam's person.

“Mhm,” Sam hums and looks up at Dean, his Nerd!Face firmly in place. “Get this; the sheriff's best friend has gone missing and the townsfolk swear they've seen this guy's brother around town.”

“A missing person's case? Really?”

“Let me finish!” Dean rolls his eyes as he's expected to do, Sam continues: “The missing guy's brother has been dead for years.”

“Zombies?”

“Probably zombies.”

Dean shudders just thinking about it. Fucking monsters. Knocking back the last, bitter dregs of his burnt coffee he shrugs.

“Georgia's a long ways off.”

“We've gone farther for less.”

Sighing, Dean gives in. “Fine, we'll check it out. But I want bacon and hash browns before we leave.”

It's Sam's turn to roll his eyes and Dean grins smugly at him before turning heel and slipping into the bathroom.

Alone, Dean's thoughts turn to more pressing matters. Like how the two of them fell asleep together, again, for instance. Neither of them will speak of the night before, and they never will. Sleeping tangled around each other like growing vines is as deeply ingrained into them as how to load a weapon is. But talking about it is strictly forbidden. So it's only now that he allows himself to peer at those things that he always sequesters away into the back of his mind, for safe keeping.

Sam's chest rising and falling beneath his palm. The scent of soap and fruity conditioner where his nose had been smushed into his brother's nape... The urge to press his lips there. Dean isn't sure when the line between right and wrong began to blur, or if there ever even was a fucking line to begin with. The only thing he knows for certain is that some day the other shoe is going to drop. And he's _terrified_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we got a little insight for Dean here. Love it? Hate it? I don't think he'll mind either way. Also, there will be lots of familiar stuff and thangs next chapter. . . Dunno if I'll tag it or leave it vague. We shall see. As always, thank you dear reader, for you are my light in this freaking depressing world.


	3. The storm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is so done with this shit.

_'everything you are and all that you will be._

_all the stars and spaces in between,_

_the color of your soul is all I see.'_

Going to Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere, Georgia is swiftly becoming one of Sam's more terrible ideas. There is regret, a shit-ton of it. A fuck-ton.

-

_Earlier. . ._

As luck would have it, (Winchester luck times a million) the case isn't a zombie after all. The sheriff, a gruff, Southern gentleman with well practiced manners seems to have it all figured out and under control. 'Seems to' being the operative words here. Sam's seen some shit in his day, _obviously_ , and he knows the look in a man's eye when they've been pushed to their limits. And it takes very little applied pressure to _snap_. This guy has the look written all over him, from head to toe.

Also, Sam is three thousand percent sure that the man knows he and Dean aren't FBI.

It started when the sheriff's best friend never came back from a hunting trip. Sam had blanched when the man told them that little fact, and he'd felt Dean tense up beside him, too. Too many memories, too raw nerves exposed given The Ohio Incident. He'd gone on to explain that normally this wouldn't even register on his scale of things to worry over, considering it was a common occurrence. Turns out this sort of thing happens at least twice a year, but the missing man always ambles home with some wild story to offer as an excuse. But this time was different. A week had gone by, the sheriff had scoured the woods and came up empty handed at every turn. He'd been reluctant to allow outsiders in, but the online journal had posted the article before he could stop it. And here they are.

Three days looking for clues and Sam has come to a couple conclusions:

1\. It isn't a zombie. Probably. The accounts of people seeing the missing man's dead brother were actually something entirely different.

2\. It's more than likely a Djinn. Dammit. He hates those fuckers. And yes, he's acutely aware of how much he sounds like his brother, but the sentiment still stands.

One other man went missing ten years prior with no trail or evidence, a crime scene, nothing. And the only connection between the two? The good sheriff. Apparently the first victim had been none other than his partner and (previous) best friend. While the similarities between then and now are damning, Sam isn't so sure the man is the monster they're hunting. There's just something about him that he can't quite put his finger on.

“Can I get you anything else?”

Glancing up at the sweet voice, Sam gives the waitress a shake of his head but points at Dean's empty cup. “I'm good, but he'll probably take another.” He watches her nod and pour the steaming liquid, her gaze ticking from the papers Sam had been skimming and the cup.

“You're the feds in town on that case, aren't you?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” he shuffles the documents and tucks them safely back into their folder.

“Found anything yet?”

“Ah... it's classified.”

Her brow arches almost mockingly at his response and she huffs a laugh. Her blonde curls sway in her ponytail as she turns without another word, moving on to the next customer. Sam hates sitting at this counter. He hates how much she reminds him of Jess. Most of all, he is really beginning to hate this case. There are just too many unknowns for his liking.

“Strike out that fast?” Dean settles back onto his stool, knee nudging Sam's with a smirk. “I wasn't even in the bathroom that long, man.”

“What? No! She asked me if we'd found anything yet... and you heard it all didn't you?”

“Yep,” Dean slaps a hand down on Sam's shoulder and leans into his side, voice dropping to a serious tone. “Think _she_ knows something?”

Momentarily swamped by Dean's nearness, his touch (as simple as it is), and the sound of that husky voice so close to his ear, Sam draws a blank. His gaze stares off behind the counter, seeing nothing but himself grabbing Dean by his tie and _yanking_. He wants to kiss him so damn much his bones ache with it.

“You alright, honey?”

Blinking the diner into focus, Sam is saved from embarrassing himself by the Jess-lookalike.

“He's great, just needs to lay off the caffeine,” Dean's hand slides down from his shoulder to the middle of his back. “Right, Sammy?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah. I'm fine, thanks,” he offers the waitress a strained smile.

“These gentlemen bothering you, Miss?”

Two seats from Sam's right, the sheriff slides onto a stool at the end of the counter. He takes his hat off, resting it on his lap and folding his arms atop the bar. His gaze is steel as he takes them in. Dean's hand drops and Sam feels him straighten.

“Now, you know I can handle myself, Sheriff.”

Eyes slowly raking over them, they watch his expression change when he looks at the petite blonde. Crow's feet appear along with a charming smile as he dips his head in a nod. The change in him is subtle and quiet, so unlike what Sam figures his own face looks like when he looks at Dean.

“That you can, darlin',” the man says, gaze steady on the waitress.

It would be creepy but Sam suspects that they know each other pretty well... or rather _biblically_. Also, she has to be older than she looks because she hasn't batted her eyes at Dean once. Only kids and taken people fail to give him a second look. (Actually, it's only the kids. Dean's been hit on by plenty of married people.)

“So, Sheriff,” Dean wipes his mouth on a napkin and angles his body toward Sam. “My partner and I were going to canvas the last place you mentioned your friend was camping. Care to join us?”

Suddenly on alert, Sam's 'Spidey Senses' tingle and his head whips around to look at his brother in confusion. Dean's knee digs into his thigh in warning to keep his trap shut and roll with it. Sam wonders if Dean has the same suspicion about the sheriff that he has. Dean's knee presses harder and Sam opts to remain quiet for now, and turns his attention back to the other man.

“Sure, sure. I'm off duty at six. You know where the old mill is off of Main?”

“Passed it on the way in, yeah.”

Humming, he nods, “Great. Meet me there...” Eyeing Dean for a moment, his gaze jumps to Sam. “You thinking we'll need backup?”

Clearing his throat, Sam answers before Dean can, “No. We're just going to have a look around, double check things.”

Dean's cup clanging against the bartop makes Sam flinch as his brother stands. He snatches the folder Sam was perusing and that's his cue to get a move along. Standing, he takes the folder from Dean while the shorter man digs his wallet out to pay for their meal. Once Dean drops some cash beside their cups, Sam smiles at the waitress and nods to the sheriff. He feels their eyes on them, watching until they pull out of the lot.

-

Back in their room, Dean confirms Sam's suspicions. They both think the beloved Sheriff knows more than he's letting on. And he hates Sam's brain for drawing conclusions about Djinn. After Sam explains his theory, Dean gets mildly angry and goes on a beer run. When he returns he's too quiet, and clearly brooding about something. Sam isn't stupid enough to question him.

\- o -

_Dean's back slams against the column. The sound of his breath hitches with a little whine of pain. Sam's on the move, machete in hand and swinging before he even has time to command his limbs to do so. Decapitated, the vampire's body crumbles. Pivoting toward his brother he gulps in a breath, job done, and puts his weapon away._

“ _Alright, let's go find those kids... get 'em out of here.”_

“ _Sam—” Dean makes a weird noise, a kind of moaned sigh, his hand reaching up to his chest. “I don't think I'm going anywhere.”_

“ _What?” Sam scowls, more than ready to carry Dean out if he has to. He's tired and his adrenaline high is quickly fading. “What are you talking about?”_

“ _He_ said _he's not leaving here, dummy. There's a massive piece of metal impaled in his back. Duh.”_

_Sam's head whips around so fast his hair obscures his vision for a second. Hand angrily pushing it back, his knees nearly buckle. Lucifer stands not five feet away, a pained expression painted onto his decaying features. He hasn't looked like that since they first met._

“ _Where the hell—you're dead!”_

“ _You always were the smart one.”_

“ _What are you doing here? And_ how _?” Sam positions himself in between his brother and the Devil._

“ _You know what they say about details, Sam. But right now they're not important. What's important is this little melodrama!” He gestures between them, the three of them. “See, you've already lived this! Isn't that exciting? You get to watch Dean confess his undying love for you_ with _his dying breath. It's so ironic, isn't it? Very symmetrical, ya know?”_

“ _Enough!” Sam shouts and Lucifer flickers like he used to when Cas broke his wall._

“ _Now now, Sammy,” the archangel reprimands him. “You know I love it when you get all aggressive, but I don't think you want to piss me off right now. I was nice enough to pause him so you wouldn't miss it. Don't make me speed it up.”_

“ _Why the fuck are you here?!”_

“ _Language!” He sighs, an exasperated parent. “I told you why. Chuck, dear ole Daddy, isn't the only one that likes to watch this soap opera. You and Dean? You're better than anything on the boob-tube.”_

“ _Are you in my head again? Am I dreaming?”_

“ _Shhh, this is my favorite part!”_

_Lucifer shushes him and with a wave of his hand Sam is yanked backward while a copy of himself remains. Muscles locked and forced to stand next to the archangel, Sam watches on in dawning horror as The Ohio Incident plays out in front of him, again. His chest hurts and his face is wet by the time the clone rests his brow against Dean's. Lucifer's ongoing commentary does not help the situation at all. He leans up and whispers in Sam's ear how moving it is and inquires why Sam just didn't kiss Dean._

“ _Please, stop,” his voice is broken, a far cry from his former anger._

“ _No, I'm genuinely curious! Why didn't you do it? It was Dean's dying wish after all. I mean, come on! He literally_ just _told you that you were it for him.”_

_In a blink the copy is gone and Sam's in his place. Dean is frozen and Sam chokes on a sob. Lucifer slides his hands between them and forcibly separates their bodies._

“ _Here,” Sam is helpless, body paralyzed as Lucifer plunges his hand into Dean's chest. The asshole makes a disgusted face then brightens. He plucks Dean's heart from his chest and offers it to Sam. “He really wanted you to have it.”_

_Sam stares down at the organ as it's forced into his trembling hands. Hot, crimson pulses sluggishly from where it's been ripped away. It drips through his fingers and trickles down his wrists. Tears mix with the flow when he blinks, struggling for air as another sob wracks his frame._

“ _Sammy...” His head snaps up at his brother's voice and he doesn't notice that they're alone. “How could you do that? I trusted you,” Dean whispers. Confused, Sam shakes his head and holds out the heart. Dean's laugh is just this side of cruel. It's a cadence he hasn't heard since he'd betrayed Dean with Ruby. “You think I want that? You're sick. Just let me die in peace, okay?”_

“ _What? No!” Sam takes a step forward but Dean holds out a hand to stall him._

“ _Yes, Sam. We're... we are_ brothers _, man. We don't do that.”_

_Fear lances through Sam and it's laced with anguish. His gaze drops to Dean's chest to find it whole. But his is empty. Chin tucked, he takes note of the gaping hole in his own chest. His heart is growing cool in his hands. He knew that Dean wouldn't want him. That's why he hadn't kissed him in that barn._

_There's a phantom pain under his mangled breastbone. There's no one here now but him and his dead brother. He couldn't save him. He can't save himself. His heart turns to ash in his hands as the pain throbs throughout his torso. Grunting with effort to stay on his feet, he moves to his brother's body. Bloody hands hold Dean's slack face as Sam cries out in agony. Then there's nothing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are awesome... said no one EVER, right? Wrong. So, this actually hurt to write. Also, if you're a Walking Dead fan then you may have noticed a few faces. I'm gonna leave them vague as heck and imply shit in the next chapter because I'm mean like that.   
> By the way! HAPPY WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE! 2021 is so close I can taste it, let's make it a better one, yeah?


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